


mr hotshot coolguy

by decearingEgg



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-02-23 03:55:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23371963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/decearingEgg/pseuds/decearingEgg
Summary: dumb boys, stupid
Relationships: Dave Strider/Karkat Vantas
Kudos: 8





	mr hotshot coolguy

**Author's Note:**

> first fic. hi

"The universe must be fucking with me," Karkat said, alone in his room. He could've sworn there was a flash of red where Dave's eyes would've been, tucked behind the side profile of his shades. The hallucination was not appreciated nor easy to get off his mind due to his hearty dose of sleep deprivation. You'd think it'd be something you'd get used to, but being too tired to think set a perpetually dull ache that Karkat couldn't help but feel represented the death of his brain cells. Maybe anxiety is just pain that can't be adapted to. Fuck, why wouldn't he sleep? 

A spike of anger shot him up on his feet, which dragged him aimlessly through the halls. The urge to break something electrified energy into his fists. Haziness clouded him. Nothing nearby. Karkat blinked. His fists hit the cement-like wall, and if he was screaming or not, he wasn't able to tell. Rubble stabbed and pricked at his hands and then the sensation of something wet. Blood...

Clarity hits him in return, and he dashes to the safety of his room, hiding scraped appendages in his pockets. After bumping the door closed, locating the bathroom and bandaging his knuckles, he stumbles into the fetal position on his pile and hums himself to sleep. 

~ ~ ~

Dave clutched the arms of his shades, as if it would lessen his heartbeat or put him on a first-class flight back to Slumber Town. The grip of the sword; it's sensation in his palms wouldn't fade away yet. Were his eyes wide out of fear, or was he zoning out? Was it just him, or is this an undeniable pact with time itself forged by the inherent nature of one's psyche that every offshoot of him in the game is destined to struggle in coping with Bro-inflicted trauma? "How iconic," Dave muttered bitterly. "...It's like if Bob Ross was ironic... but his nature is chronic, how's a cool dude like me gonna paint without putting dicks on it, listen im always fashionably late, it's so irrational, fate, you'll hear me showing to the party 'cuz I kicking down the gate-"

"Shut the fuck up." 

The room was still dark, and Dave forgot he had dozed off in the common room. He puts his shades on.

"'Sup Kat."

"Why do you wear those asshole wriggler eye glasses? You are like douche advertising. Next stop, Douche Central, leave your bags at station so we can spray paint genitalia on them as a welcoming gift." 

"Every time you make your presence known it is like Jesus himself is smiling down and handing everyone self-sustaining puppies. These are no ordinary dogs, man, they're magical and can take care of their own shit droppings, don't need no momma to feed them, they are petting-only puppies bro." 

"My gog. Will you just tell me. With your goddamn mouth, with the simplest terms communicable. Why you wear that nook-chafing eye-ware." 

"Nah."

"Oh come on."

"Kaaarkaaat would you get off my ass like some personal space respecting homosexual taught by the most elite fucking gentleman? There's no room for harassment right now in my schedule, or ever, actually, so maybe drop it like it's hot and let me go get food in a hospitable manner."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

"FINE, gog, go fuck yourself on a knife." 

Dave headed to the kitchen before Karkat could see him smirk, just a little bit. But not too much, because Striders stay cool. 

~ ~ ~

Karkat didn't really think it, but he felt that something was wrong. Dave had fallen asleep in the common room, which he never does because, "why sleep on that couch when anyone could come by and draw mustaches on you with their jumbo permanent marker sharpies of doom?" He guessed he understood the "meaning" behind what Dave was giving him. Don't get caught sleeping in a place that was in any way vulnerable. He wonders if anyone else locks their door at night. He overthinks about whether he's being too paranoid. Any of the meteors inhabitants could knock down a goddamn door. 

Whatever. 

~ ~ ~ 

Dave couldn't sleep, so he sought out the mayor. "Oh thank god he's still awake," he thought. "I'd have died out of grief and boredom immediately." The mayor pointed to a troll hunched in the corner drawing with chalk, and looked concerned. Dave offered the mayor a ride on his shoulders but was politely declined, again being directed towards Karkat and his moping. The mayor held Dave's hand.

"Dude is your resting face just that bitchy or are you about to snap a bitch instead. No, wait, you are the entire bitch. It is you."

"Jegus, stop right there before you give me a headache - is it possible you're sounding more dense than normal? Also, don't answer that and fuck off and also die." 

"I'd rather not at the moment."

Karkat paused in thought, "Aren't you used to seeing dead versions of yourself?"

"Yeah."

Very quickly, the silence became unbearable.

"...What does it feel like to die?"

Karkat didn't actually want to ask that but it poured out of him. Way to go, shoving all the terrible questions onto people to make them feel terrible and remind them of terrible things. Good job Karkat. Look, he's still stuck in thought-

"It's... like there's immeasurable pain and breathing is impossible and so is seeing shit and the rest of your senses go out like lights switched off in your brain and your lungs are being ripped out and you're gone. At least that's how I felt it," Dave laughs, but it comes out as a strange wheeze. "Why, have you come across a particular hankering for dramatic deaths?" Why, have you entered another depressive episode Karkat? Oh wait, it's perpetual.

"Fuck, okay, I shouldn't've asked you dipshit, oh fuck are you alright?"

Dave was struggling to breathe and Karkat began to hate himself more vividly than he had in a while. The Mayor released Dave's hand and started looking around for something to help, worried. Dave mumbled to himself. 

"No big deal man like I get it one minute you chillin' with the best of 'em the next you thinking 'bout death by over opiodin' it 'ain't like a bigass deal or whatever I mean c'mon sometimes there just be too much pressure, what can a guy do when he's trapped beyond measure-" his voice cracks, "fuck, get away from me for a hot second, this bastard needa' siddown... goddamn preacher needs his water round... get away from me get away from me get away from me? Hahaha! Shit!"

Karkat retracted his touch stump from Dave's shoulder, reacting to his rackety, whole-body flinch. He'd never seen something so simultaneously familiar and foreign, and mumbled weak apologies that Dave probably couldn't hear. Karkat was not what "Mr. Hotshot Coolguy" needed right now. Instead of wearing out his welcome to the shit-fest that was occurring, he ran out of Can Town. 

~ ~ ~ 

There was something soft, being murmured to him, and then draped around him. It shielded his face and body with what he barely registered as some sort of wool blanket. Rose played piano music on her laptop at the lowest volume. He couldn't face her yet, and she knew, of course she did. She stayed nearby. 

Dave knew how much time had passed, but it didn't feel real. He massaged his cramped muscles and observed the sleeping human next to him with a laptop clutched in their arms. What did he do to deserve her? Was it making her laugh? Entertaining her wily wizardly writings? It hurt to think about. He didn't know why.

A part of him did know, however, why he would be avoiding Karkat like the spanish flu for the next week, or playing the same three tracks on his phone during said week as if feeling insane was better than feeling nothing at all. It was as simple as it would ever get: he needed to think about something other than that god forsaken roof in the frying pan that had been Houston, Texas, and his countdown until mental destitution thus started.


End file.
